The Search for Paradise
by zootycoon346
Summary: The sequel to 'This Isn't What it Looks Like'. Sixteen year-old Tamsin sees her mother's distress from the worst point of view; she can't do anything about it. The torturous flashbacks increase daily for her now ... So when the chance comes along, offering her mother a better life ridden of pain, she agrees. But she could never have imagained what came next. Involves Herobrine :D
1. Nelson and Mr Plop

_The Search for Paradise_

When my mum first looked into my eyes, she actually groaned.

Dad says she hasn't stopped apologising since, but she still groaned, and I'm still pissed off at her. It's been sixteen years since the day I was born. My mum is a pretty '_unique' _figure to look up to. For example, she wore jeans and a camouflage-shirt to her wedding day, while my poor father stood there blushing in his dapper black-and-white suit. Yet again, my mother has never had a day when she hasn't regretted that.

"Sorry, honey," my mum told me the other day, "I shouldn't have sighed. It's … just that, I passed on my brown eyes to you. How _dull_! I should have made CERTAIN that you'd have got _dad's _eyes … aren't they gorgeous?"

At this point, she winked at my father sitting on the settee next to her, and they cuddled and did other creepy stuff only couples do, so I went upstairs to tune my guitar. But she is OBSESSED with my dad. You'd have thought they'd get over _being in-love _and all around their daughter, especially since it's been four years since they married. I got to be the bridesmaid at the wedding. I was twelve. What a horrific memory to tarnish my life forever.

All credit to the bad parenting in question.

But, hey, whatever: I'm _glad _my parents aren't 'normal'. I'm glad my mum doesn't cook broth when you're ill (she smothers you with cushions until you recite the alphabet backwards for her), and I'm glad my dad doesn't go chop the firewood out back like my friend's see their dad do. Wouldn't that be dull? Just like my eyes?

"Oh, no, I _love _your eyes," mum laughed when I asked her about it, "_Buuut_ I had been wishing for green eyes, that's all. Your eyes are beautiful – and so are _you_. Don't doubt yourself, Tamsin – you're _gorgeous_."

That's my name. Tamsin. It means _'__Twin__'_ and my mum thought I would suit that for whatever reason. But then again, my dad tells me that Tamsins are a _'__powerful force to all whose lives they touch'_ etcetera, or that's what the Valond priestess told him when I had been born at the temple. I'm not so sure about that part. Does that describe me? So far, the only life _I've _been a powerful force on is Nelson, the cat (don't ask, mum named him) when I tried to drown him in the fishbowl when he tried to eat Admiral Plop (mum again) the goldfish. Mum wasn't best pleased, with neither the cat _nor_ me. Nelson and I have never really made up. He scarpers for the curtain-rails whenever I'm feeding Admiral Plop, even though I was only three at the time. Dad's now in charge of getting him down, and I swear he's been getting to sleep later and later over the years …

But not everything's nice in this house. Not everything's funny, and not everyone laughs day-in day-out. You'd have thought that it would be my _mum _who cheered everyone up whenever '_it'_ happened, but how could she … when she's the one that '_it'_ happens to?

I mumble something inaudible as I roll over in bed. My eyes managing to open by themselves, and I check the sundial beside the window. Sunlight streams into the room through the open curtains, casting a shadow from the gnomon onto the number _seven_. Ugh – it's early on a Saturday, yet again. I think about closing the curtains and trying to get more shut-eye, but that's when I hear the scream.

And I know instantly, that '_it_' is happening again.

All thoughts of sleep vanish as I clamber out of my bed, the mattress creaking in relief behind me. I snatch the dressing-gown slung over the doorknob of my wardrobe, tug it on, and tiptoe from my bedroom. I'd never be able to do such a task (especially at the weekend) if it weren't '_now_' and it weren't for '_this_'.

"Shhh … shhh, Ann, what is it?" I hear dad whisper gently, and something makes

me linger outside their bedroom door.

My mother starts gulping hysterically, and I feel she's retaining another scream.

"F-Flashback …" she says, her whole voice on edge, "W-With the Eagles. I-In the t-t-torture … room …"

She dissolves into raw pain and fear, crying softly but passionately. I raise my trembling hand to the rosewood door, but I cannot bring my hand down on a knock. This is their time, and this is something private. I cup my hand to the crack between doorframe and wall, and crouch down. It's wrong. I get that. But my parents have done worse, and they are the ones meant to be setting an _example_.

"It doesn't exist anymore. We heard the other week, didn't we? That they demolished that place. We don't have to remember it anymore," my dad says soothingly, and then it's all quiet, just my mother whispered '_Loren, Loren …' _over and over again: my dad's name.

They never really went into full history about how they met. My mum once told me that she had an adventure, but that adventure's were evil things, and one musn't look for them. _Be careful what you wish for_ was the only sane piece of advice she's ever given to me.

Eventually, I retire to my bed again, but I can't fall asleep. _Torture room. Eagles. _My mother was involved in that kind of thing? She never told me that, but I've heard fragments of secret conversation before. When she has the flashbacks. They happened about once every three months, but now they're increasing. My mum is getting paler everyday. I don't get how she can try to pretend everything's okay in front of me, because it is _not _okay. I would help her. If I could. I would make it so that _everything _was okay. If the chance came up, even for a brief moment, I would _take _it so recklessly that someone might get hurt. But I want my mum to be alright. I love her. She's so _different_.

When I decide I really can't get a wink more sleep, I stagger downstairs, probably waking up everyone in the house with my exaggerated moaning.

_"THE SUDDEN CHAIR!" _

I gasp, whipping around with my hand on the door handle, but it's just mum yelling something weird again on the landing. As ALWAYS. Her hand is outstretched, pointing at the chair balanced on the penultimate step. It wasn't there last time she went down these stairs.

"I put it there last night," I sigh wearily, rubbing sleep from my eyes, "There was a spider* on the ceiling. That's all."

She narrows her eyes suspiciously, but finally nods her assent and continues downstairs.

My eyes smart as I draw back the curtains in the living room. Sunlight glowers at me like I've killed the _Moon_ or something. I stick two fingers up at it, glaring right back, until I notice Nelson watching me on the window-bay. He eyes me for another few seconds before waving his paw in the air and retracting two claws. I think he shares my dislike of bright light. I shut the windows and carry Nelson down (he's too fat and lazy to do anything by himself when I'm around (for some strange reason)).

But, hey. That's life. Or at least, that _was _my life … until '_that_' happened …

****Hey guys! You liking the sequel? If you haven't read the sequel, then hey guys, you liking the story? ^_^**

**Okay – next issue roughly in three or four days – I'm travelling somewhere today and then next week is the school week, as usual. **

*** You hear that, Percabetheweston (Ellie), a BIG BLACK SPIDER THAT THE HEROINE IS ****_NOT _****AFRAID OF!? Oooh … ****_eight slender black legs, mincing along alternately, creeping up your FACE as you SLEEP! _**

**_AH HA HA HA HA HA!_**

**Love, Lucy xx**


	2. I-N-T-I-M-A-C-Y

"Do we _have _to move my room?"

I lean against the doorframe, my arms hugging my hips and my head bowed in gloom. My dad looks up just as he finishes emptying the chest of drawers. He puts the last of the socks into the bag on the floor before smiling.

"You'll be getting a much _bigger _room," he tells me, "I wouldn't be complaining if I were you."

A vague mumble escapes my lips, but I go over to him and plunk the bag of clothes on my bed. With the laundry out of the way, dad somehow manages to cart the WHOLE chest of drawers off and out of my room. I blink, stunned. Okaaay … we got a Superman here. Maybe Kryptonite is his only weakness? Aha: now I know what to use if he tries to tickle me again. I am _extremely _ticklish, but I am doing some serious training with my friends to become immune. So far, they've just feathered me without mercy now that I've given them _permission _to tickle me. My resistance hasn't really improved.

I watch as my dad lumbers back in, panting. He sees me looking and laughs.

"I know, right? I need to do some kind of workout," dad grins, to my surprise.

"What?" I say, shocked, "Most men your age wouldn't be able to lift that thing in the first place!"

His eyes narrow, his green irises twinkling with irritation.

"What do you mean _my age_?"

Mum's doing some plastering in the bedroom (but mostly swearing – she hates housework) so she wants me out of the house. Else I'll _disturb_ her. Mainly, I think she doesn't want my vocabulary of curse-words getting any longer. As mentioned, she _hates _housework.  
I pass buckling wire fences, elapsing into each other's coils. The sky is a washed-up grey visa, like my once-white tunic at the bottom of the sink, awaiting my mother's supposed TLC. Crows patrol the skies, circling the heavens with screeching _caws_.  
What a horrible day.

I linger on the doorstep to Svenya's house. My aunt is the wisest person in the world. She is also the most sarcastic, realistic and sceptical woman alive as well, but she's smart, and she won't mind me asking her something like this. Metal clinks as a chain is drawn back (told you she was cynical) and the doorknob is cranked open. My aunt's auburn hair falls in sheets in front of her face as she peers through the keyhole. I can just see her green eye, magnified, the same as my dad's, staring at me for a few minutes before she fumbles for her keys and unlocks the door.

"Sorry, Tamsin. Just precautions. You do realise I do this for the milkman as well, right?" she smiles, welcoming me inside.

Her room is small, but cosy. The ceiling is low-down as Svenya's quite _petite_, and the wooden beams traversing it are cut from rosewood. A crackling log fire simmers under the hearth, with a stack of logs next to it. The sofa is plush and sags quite a lot, so my aunt hides it with pillows. She's got her slippers on the footstool, and it looks like a normal, cute little cottage from in here.

"Agh, cliché!" says Svenya, obviously annoyed, as she pokes out the fire and tosses her slippers into the dining room.

I stare at her in slight bewilderment, chucking newspapers about left right and centre and deliberately making the cushions looking uncomfortable.

"Umm … is this just because it's _cliché_?" I ask nervously as a fruit bowl sails through the open door.

"Yup. Everything has to look _opposite _to homely," she says breathlessly, "Reila is coming around."

"Oh."

Who's Reila? Probably an ex, or something like that. Svenya's been through about four or five in the last year, and she's only, what twenty-three, twenty-four? She's very pretty. And I think it's her quirkiness that attracts the men. At least, that's what happened with _my _mum and dad. I choose a moment when she's not holding the fire-tools to blurt out something.

"My mum's sick," I babble quickly, the words tumbling over each other in the escape through my lips, "She keep on having these _flashbacks _and going on about torture, you know? They're getting worse. She's really pale. Dad's looking more tired as well. I wanted to know if I could … do anything."

Svenya pauses before chucking the kindling, and glances over at me. Anxious, I bite my lip. Will she tell me it's useless? What if my mum has a mental illness (a serious one, not the one that defines her as '_unique'_), like post … post-traumatic stress disorder? Or something _worse_? She tries so hard to hide it in front of me that I can't help but think … that things are going to get bad.

I can see the storm clouds gathering.

**_Ann_**

"Bloody-fuck-shit-shit-shit OWWW!" I cry, managing to fit three of my favourite swear-words into the same sentence. The hammer plummets from my hand and clatters down the staircase, but I don't go after it. I'm too busy sucking my indigo thumb.

"That's a combination _I've _never heard before," says a familiar voice from behind me, and I can hear the smile in his tone.

Loren pulls in his arms around my shoulders and yawns. He's about a foot taller than me, and his soft raven hair falls in front of my face. I forget about my bruise for a moment to play with his mane.

"Ouch, _nasty_!" he whistles upon seeing my poor swollen thumb, "Let me look at that."

He reaches over my shoulder to pull my hand into the light. Nice. It's fat, ugly and is a sickening shade of violet. Now it's green. And yellow. Loren notices me pulling a face, and pinches my nose with his spare hand.

"You've been through worse. I'll fetch a plaster," he says quietly, and a few seconds later heads downstairs.

I sigh, wishing he still had his arms around me. Whenever he's gone, even for the briefest moment, I feel like a part of me has died. I can't live without him: he's like some kind of addiction. We've been together for seventeen years now, but with just the one kid. Labour was way too much for me. I don't think either of us took into account what torture has done to my body.

I am like a waning candle. I won't last the night.

Suddenly, I'm alone. Everything is plunged into darkness. Pitch black. I can't see. I scream, loud, to check that I am still alive, yet I can't even hear myself _think. _I'm falling, falling, ever falling, and now there is a light. I pant. Recollect myself. Look around, but I am alone. Isolated. Loren is gone.  
Loren is gone.  
My eyes squeeze shut. Yelling out against the fear and the horror, I curl into a ball and with my heart I _will_ Loren back to me. I rock back, back and forth, and I'm in an ocean now. The ocean's waves toss and turn. I flail helpless in the storm, a toy-boat out at sea.

_I can't move. I'm falling, falling, ever falling. Falling. Falling. Falling ever falling ever falling ever falling I am falling and falling and –_

"ANN! _ANN!_"  
My eyes snap open. Hair clinging to my scalp, my whole body pulsating and drenched in sweat, I feel my pupils dilate and draw me back to reality. I breathe, in out, and the blackness shrinks … but NO his voice is GONE I cannot HEAR HIM shout MY NAME. SAY MY NAME. SAY MY NAME or the BlaCKNesS will return. Shadows creep in at the corners of my eyes and I SCREAM I SCREAM I SCREAM NO DON'T LET THEM IN NO NO NO FAR AWAY GO FAR AWAY!  
"_ANN! ANN, DAMMIT, COME ON!"_  
He yells my name and the dusk recoils like it's been STABBED. STAB STAB STAB IT STAB FOR FUCKS SAKE _STAB IT STAB IT!_

Then his face comes into focus and I'm staring back into green once more. Green green green.

I am enveloped in a different darkness before I can say that I love him.

**Loren**

Ann's final scream chokes itself out before she sinks into my lap, limp and trembling. I gasp in shock, trying to even out my breathing, but I can't. Shaking in horror, I clutch her to my chest and tighten my hands into fists. I nearly lost her this time. She was nearly gone.  
It's been getting closer. The last time, she was half-gone. Half of her here, in Arunia, half of her wherever he flashbacks take her. I know it's my fault. It's always my fault. I leave her just for a minute and she'll shut down, I _know _that. She depends on me. Can I carry her forever? But it was always my fault _anyway_. I wasn't there for her in the torture room. I wasn't there for her in the camp.  
I left her on her own.  
I _abandoned _her.  
Ann murmurs something indistinct and stirs. My heart flits up into my throat as I look back down at her. She gazes up at me and groans, swearing again.

"I'm useless. God, I'm so _useless_. I'm useless at everything, and everything's useless at me. Look, I can't even hang up a damn _painting_ now, can I? See: the hammer's down there on the landing! I mean, of _all_ the-"

I hug her tighter to the point of pain. She's okay. She's _o-k-a-y_. She's not hurt, or anything, she's okay. When I finally release her, she blinks, dazed, then breaks into a grin. Her nutmeg eyes twinkle.

"It's nice when we get all intimate, huh?" she smiles.

"No," I say gruffly, our faces growing closer, and I feel mine reddening.

"_Oooh_!" Ann teases, "We got a shy one here! Shall I spell it out for you? I-N-T-I-M-A-C-Y."

Ha ha _ha_. Now I can sense the heat radiating from her, and even smell the lingering scent of oranges from this morning at the orchard. My wife is beautiful. I should have joined the Eagles sooner. She pauses to brush a straying hair from her face. And next she dives right in.

"I'm claustrophobic …" I manage to get out, but we're too far gone for phobias anymore.

**Tamsin** (_that means no more yucky romance for this chapter, Chloe!_)

"Your mother went through a lot a while back, Tammy. I'm sure you get that. And … really, there's no mending her. She's suffering _inside_. I think only your dad can get that far in."

I wince, like these words are searing hot pokers, and they're branding me with Svenya's mockery.  
No. Svenya isn't mocking. She's telling me the truth straight-out as nobody else could.

"If there was anything in the world … _anything _… that could fix her, even if we could never do it, or find it, or whatever … is there nothing we can do?" I whisper, gripping the edge of the sofa in my sticky palms.

Svenya bows her head, thinking hard, and seats herself next to me. She picks up a cushion from the floor and puts it behind her for a headrest.

"Yeah. There's a couple of things we could do, and when I say _we, _I mean _you_. I love your mum, I really do – she's a great idi … I mean, she's a great friend. But … this is your fight, Tamsin. Not mine."

I nod eagerly, waiting for her answers. I know she can see me hanging in here so I press it further and part my lips slightly in anticipation.

"We could subject her to Ascension."

Okay … _what_?! What the _fuck_?! This is serious, really bloody serious. Svenya doesn't do jokes. Not normally, at least, and I thought she actually _understood _me for a moment there.  
Ascension is where you take someone (preferably dead) and let a Valond priestess alight them on top of the highest mountain in Arunia. There they are supposedly freed with the Gods. I think only kings, queens and Nobles have Ascended so far, but my mum? That's plain ridiculous.

"We are not killing mum in the process," I say shortly, crossing my arms in irritation, "I mean serious things. Actually, seriously, _serious_."

"Oh, I _am_ serious alright. That's the only way we could actually free her. Your mother took to religion recently, am I right? She started thinking about Ascension when I first met her. Ascending her would put her soul at peace. That's what your mother wants you guys to do when she dies, you know."

"And … what else?"

"Just the one other idea," Svenya continues, "We … We use _Paradise._"

I shake my head in utter confusion. Use Paradise?

"That's when we transport someone to another land … their '_paradise'_ land. You just do a ritual, I think. But it's dangerous. Dabbles in magic too much. You could find yourself in a world where life is more painful then death, but you can't die. Things like that. It's when you get desperate."

_Desperate, huh?_

_Kinda fits the description right now._

****Sorry about such a late release-date, but I've had essays and tests and God ****_knows _****what else! But, hey, it's here now! For this chapter (just for you, Ellie ;P), it's a multiple POV including Ann's point of view. This girl just mentioned – Ellie – ****_doesn't know who Herobrine is! _****Guys, please post a review to tell her!**

**Also, Ellie ... INTIMACY!**

**Love you guys!**

**And (Lucinda), can I call you Lucy? Some people have a thing with names, so I generally avoid nicknaming people.**

**Lu xx**


	3. Don't Let Go

Breathing in the ivory smoke, I clamp the candle to my heart and pace around the room. Svenya's once immaculate floor is chalked with intricate motifs and ancient runes. And she did it herself.

"What's happening again?"

I glance across at my dad, one hand around mum and the other scratching the back of his head, messing up his hair even more.

"It's a ritual, you idiot," mum hisses, thwacking him the back of her hand, "Don't interrupt!"

Dad goes a deep shade of magenta and rubs the angry welt across his cheekbone. He looks at mum with wide puppy-dog eyes, but she refuses to feel guilty, or even sympathetic. Eventually, he pushes his face right into hers and she gives way, laughing, poking his nose so that he moves back. I sigh. If this doesn't work … then all of this dies. Me, dad, Svenya … _mum_. But I think even that will be better than what she's going through now.

Svenya claps her hands twice; the signal.

"Mum, dad, we need to all hold hands," I say quietly, then gesture to the circle in the centre of the room, "Around this circle here."

Exchanging looks with each-other, they comply and we link arms around the ring. I avoid their confused gazes. If I had told them the truth, they wouldn't be here. I told them I was _practising_ a ritual. So … if they did … _die _… they would never … they would never …

Forcing your eyes not to water is hard.

"Merciful Riven. Laurel Stone. Twin Stone. Paradise. Paradise, _ah nehyl vehassel masanja lavteyn … paradise, ah nehyl vehassel masanja lavteyn … paradise …_"

Our true names, all of them. And then, our names in ancient Arunian. I spent hours researching them with Svenya in the town's archives. Then I spent another three hours _reciting _them. I don't know where we'll be transported; I don't know if we'll survive, if the place will _not _be a paradise … but the ritual can tell our visions of paradise from our names, and our energy and life spirit transferred from our linked hands and into the circle. Oh God. This has to work. I've used magic before, in small amounts, for either schoolwork or for fun. The aftereffects have been;

\- Nelson's tail went POOF

\- Mum ended up on the ceiling

\- The boy I had a crush on (for, like, _two years_) fell in love with my best friend. She fancied the guy who ended up infatuated with _me_

\- I had to walk around with my feet glued together for a week. Luckily, it was a school holiday

But this has to work. This _will _work. I'm imposing _all of my energy_, my _passion_, my _spirit _into this. And yet … and yet it can still fail. We can still die at any second, or worse. What's worse than death, you ask? My mother's every flashback.

"Mum. Dad. This might not work. If it doesn't work, we'll all die. Sorry."

Green and brown eyes flash, and both owner's turn to me. Cab they hear my voice about to break? Can they tell I am being serious?

"Honey – please tell me this is _not _necromancy … _please_," mum whispers, and my grip on her arm tightens.

"If you try and get out of the ritual now, we will all die for _certain_," I say instantly, "But it's still not necromancy. This is … this is _paradise_."

"Oh hell," she breathes, and clutching dad's hand, she squeezes her eyes shut and begins to pray.

Suddenly, the world tilts on its side. I yell, grabbing their hands hard. We cannot break up! _We cannot break up_! Mum and dad cry out as well. Damn it damn it _damn it_! Everything flashes red, blue, black. The wall starts to peel back, revealing empty space and neon cubes. I scream as mum starts to slip from my grip. Dad meets my eyes. We stare at eachother, silent, gazing with despair and fear. But dad turns away. He hugs mum close, and then he looks back. Now, he is no longer scared, no longer desperate. He just stares.

And he lets go.

I gasp. No sound escapes my throat. Darkness envelops me. I am falling, tumbling through dimensions every second. _Someone catch me! Someone break my fall! _No-one comes and I am falling and drowning and dying and the next chapter will be coming some time in the near future (sorry for the slow updates!) …

**** Yet another rubbish fourth-wall break (thanks for explaining them to me, Chloe!). I put them at all the wrong moments! This chapter took an idiotically long time to write because I can't write action-scenes. Generally, I cannot write at all! A perfect example of that quote is the story you are now reading.**

**Ciao! **


	4. Toddler Assassinators

_Well you only need the light when it's burning low  
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow  
Only know you love her when you let her go_

_Only know you've been high when you're feeling low  
Only hate the road when you're missin' home  
Only know you love her when you let her go_

_And you let her go_

'Let Her Go' by Passenger …

It's a really cool song. Listen to it._  
~_

Why did he let go?

I don't know why I'm focusing on that now. Now, when I am tumbling the phenomenal descent through dimensions into dimensions, I probably have bigger priorities on my mind. My mind numbs and I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. I see the world shrink into a pinhead and explode into a planet every second. Tears stream. I can't retain them. Can't even move my hand to wipe them away. But the wind does that for me. It hurts, it cuts me to ribbons, because I am FALLING FALLING EVER FALLING and the altitude increases with my fear.

My eyes aren't green. They're brown. But my hair is black, like my father's. Mum never commented on that, though, did she? I … I admit that I like my hair. My hair is very fine, like silk, and it's soft. Mum didn't notice. Mum. Mum. Mum, if you hadn't had those flashbacks, I wouldn't be here. Nor would you. Or dad. No, it's _my _fault. If I had never used Paradise … if I had … if I could have _found another way_, then none of this would have happened. I'm stupid! Stupid, stupid, I can't ever think of _myself _and it causes _so _many problems for others; the other thing I have in common with dad. I keep playing the hero. I know I can't do it forever. Forever. FOREVER. FoREvER. foreveR.

_I wonder if I'll ever hit the -_

_ BAM! _

_Ground …_

It's my sixth-sense that finally arouses me.

My mother has a sixth sense. So do dad, and Svenya. Even _Nelson _has a sixth sense, but he _is _a cat, so I suppose that comes naturally.

Mr Plop doesn't. Mr Plop is a fish.

I think most people have this supposed '_sixth sense_'. Nobles most. My mum knew someone who was half-Noble. Apparently, she swore as much as mum does. But I seriously doubt whether that's possible. Noble's can usually tell … if there's _death _or _hurt _in the air. It's a grim foreboding, but Noble's are not kind people. Not usually. Elves would come second, in particular moonies. Sun-elves are not so refined as the moon-elves, I guess. Possibly it's the name. Human's have a more instinctive kind of _prehistoric _sixth-sense.  
But my sixth sense tells me something else. My sixth sense tells me, that I am in a woodland.

Gasping, I squeeze my eyes open and bolt upright. Oh … God. I feel like I've just been in a very long dream. But I haven't. Because it was real. And how do I know? How do I know for sure?

Everything around me is made out of blocks.

Ha ha ha. _HA HA HA_. You hear me laughing, all you dimensional-assholes out there?! WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU PUT ME?! WHAT KIND OF A SICK JOKE IS _THIS_?!

"£&amp;$%!*$!" I swear, using my mother's choicest swear-words, "**_£ $%£%$£^%£$£$_**!"

I try to sit up. Oh. That was easy.

I'm seriously confused. Why is everything looking like _cubes_? And … And why aren't I dead after all that dimensional-falling jazz? Or even … slightly _hurt_?!

I stand up. Also easy. Not a single bruise! Or even a little smidgeon of _dirt_! My head begins to swirl, blood pumping in my ears, and I clasp my head in my hands and am forced to sit back down again. I don't know what to do. The overwhelming thoughts that I have killed my parents render me frozen. I breathe in, out, slowly and I try to tell myself that they cannot be dead. No. They cannot. If _I _am alive, even though I was holding on to _no-one _then _they _would be alive if they were with each other. I need to stop saying _if_. And _was_.

I stare hard at my surroundings – cubes, cubes, all made of friggin' _cubes. _**Why**?! How could this even be a _possibility _let alone a dimension? But … despite the textures, everything is eerily … similar to Arunia. As in, there is grass. Sky. Trees. Earth. Wind. Air. Running water. And … is that a chicken, or a duck?  
Whatever it is, it's glaring at me and making disturbing noises. Quacks? Or clucks? It doesn't sound right either way. My curiosity wins over and I reach over to it, my fingers outstretched. The chicken/duck doesn't object as my arm ranges out over it … but suddenly, just as my hand brushes it's snowy down, it squawks in shocks and recoils, flashing _scarlet_ and feathers flying everywhere!

"Hey!" I cry, "I didn't do _anything_! How could that _possibly_ _hurt_? Look-"

Before it can flap away, I scramble onto my knees and pet it again. Gently. Soothingly. The frightened bird hesitates, then slowly wheels around to gaze at me. My breath snags in my throat when it's eyes fill with utter sorrow.

And then it collapses into a cloud of silver smoke.

Coughing, I waft away the smoulder and search around for the bird. It was so … _blocky_, literally just made of differently positioned rectangles. How strange … and yet how real. The way it gazed at me … could only mean … could only mean that …  
The pink, plucked carcass of a chicken pops up in front of my face.

"Oh," is all I can manage.

I am a murderer. I have just killed this bird. However … it doesn't quite _sink in_. I mean, come _on, _it was made of blocks! And rectangles! It didn't look very alive. It didn't look very _anything. _And yet it was … _adorable_ …  
Sobbing passionately, I curl into myself and hurl the raw chicken away.  
It takes a while for me to come back to my senses. I've never killed anything before: I mean, not _intentionally_. As a toddler, you tend to smash any minibeasts that come by your way, but not _consciously_. Otherwise, every child in the world would be a cold-blooded assassin. Like my mother. Eventually, though, I force myself out of my fetal coil and try to stand again. This time I can.

"Mum!" I yell out, my voice crackling from disuse, "Dad! _A-Anyone!?_"

Fear threatens to overwhelm me, but I grit my teeth and cup my hands around my mouth. Is there anyone even here? Yes: I'm sure we're in the same dimension. In the ritual, I whispered _all _our names for the link to be stronger if we ever did break the bond. That was special measures – and it looks like it was for the best. I yell harder, beginning to pace about the forest clearing. They are here: I _know _they're here. They're nearby, too, but I don't know how close. And … I don't think I'm in the right direction.

"Hey! Who's there?!"

My heart flutters and springs into my throat. For a moment, I freeze. But then I laugh aloud at my alarm, and race toward the voice. Of _course _there would be humans in this dimension: there were normal animals, for one thing, and the air and environment were fit for human beings … I mean, otherwise _I _wouldn't be alive! I call out for them again, but there's no reply this time, only the sound of footsteps crashing through the trees. The voice is male, but not dads. Even if he is a stranger, though, I'm sure he'll have enough pity reserved for some lost multi-dimensional soul who's been split from her family. And if pity fails, I can always use my sex appeal. That always works.

Cyan shirt. Navy jeans. An unshaven face, and tan skin. Blue eyes. A pick in hand, and a bow and quiver slung over his back. I blanch. Is he a hunter? Will he shoot me?

Probably yes, considering he's pointing an arrows straight at my forehead.

"What d'you drop?" he says quietly, straining the bowstring, "You a new update? A mob?"

I gasp unevenly for breath, paling further every second. My heart ricochets into my head. Please no. Can I explain to him? That I am not from this world, that I don't understand what he means?

"I … I don't know what you're talking about," I whisper with eyes like saucers, "I'm not from here, I'm sorry, I didn't know this was-"

Pain shoots through my entire body as he gives the arrowhead a push. I scream. Blood trickles down my face and into my open mouth. He stares hard into my eyes, and I want to cry, but I can't, or I'll die. I don't know what to do. My body has frozen up. But I have to do something, I have to say something or I'll die.

"You like a wolf? Can I tame ya?"

"No … No, I'm not like a wolf … I'm a-" I start desperately, tears streaming down my face, but he jabs the arrow further into my head and I scream out again.

"Right. Well, you'll obviously drop something. It's cool you can talk an' all, but I'm guessin' you're not a mob," he grunts.

I sigh with relief as he steps back, and the agony is lifted slightly. Instantly, my hands go to my forehead and come back slick with blood. My lip trembles. Shit. I might die.  
I really might die.

"Bow or sword?" he smiles.

And then I'm staggering away, the wound in my head leaving a trail across the ground. He chortles and through the corner of my eyes I can see him following the trail of blood. Oh God. I'm gonna die. I really am going to die. The tears fall thick and fast, clinging to my lashes, mingling with the blood, both liquids equally bitter.  
There is no such word as _bittersweet_, because there is no sugar left in the world.

I am being chased by a man in a blue shirt, in blue jeans, with blue eyes. The tears are there but I'm not crying. It's just a _fact_. It's not a _feeling. _I feel sad and scared and a lot of both mixed up together. I feel sad because I will die without my mother telling me my eyes are better than green. I have always longed for that kind of treatment. And, I want to hold hands with my dad like I used to. I don't want the last memory … to be of us letting go. I can't let it go.  
I can't let it go.

I hit a tree and smash into the one behind it. My head feels like it'll split and I feel sick, and I might pass out. But the sound of the man catching up, and the arrows whistling inches past my head, force me up and on. I look down because I'm scared. I can't see in front of myself. Help me help me someone _help me_!

Oh God.

That's it.

How could I have been so stupid?

"HELP!" I scream out, choking on my own cries, "_HELP ME!"_

_Because if there's one person, there'll be another one, right?_

_Right?_

"_Wro~ng_!" says a familiar voice from behind me, "There's no-one out there, little ol' NPC."

Help me. Help me please. The man softly cups his hand around my chin and pulls my gaze towards his. His eyes are blue, but unnatural, and sickening. A smirk crumples across his face. Now I realise that he is not made from blocks. He looks … almost _normal_. For a fucked-up murderous bastard of course.

"Little kitten, don't struggle. Don't bother running, please. It really would save me a lot of trouble," he croons, and my eyes trace his hand travelling backwards into his quiver.

He draws his last arrow. The wood is pale, birch-wood, and is fletched with that bird's feathers. The one that _I _killed. But there is a difference; he will have slain deliberately. Mine was with appalling carelessness. I will not die a cold-blooded murderer, but a stupid one. That counts for enough.  
I screw up my eyes as he pulls on the bow. Thinking now, I could have died instantly in a dimension of lava, or in one with no air. Or no ground. But I managed to find a world where I _could _live, a dimension where there were indeed other people; and what's more, where they spoke English too! But I will die in the next ten seconds, and that's a waste. Should I count my blessings? I can hardly count the ruler-straight clouds in the sky above I'm bleeding so profusely. That can't be good.  
I'm going to die, and that'll be new. I've never died before. If anything, I'm a little excited.  
This is going to be _dead _brilliant. Just mind the badly placed puns, that's all.

It's at the explicit moment, where I finally grasp that this will be my end, that the bastard shouts out and is thrown backwards in a sudden miraculous twist.

I gasp, sink to my knees and consider praying in gratitude. Instead of praying, though, I spin around and look for the source of the hunter's fall.  
The reason comes in the form of another man, several metres away. My pupils dilate against the glaring sunlight, so bright that he is a silhouette.

I can only see his eyes, glowing white against his blackened form.

**** My sincerest apologies for the delay: my excuse? Well, I was in Berlin (first time, squee!) for three days and only got back yesterday where I promptly ****_dishlogdied_****. Yeah. ****_Dishlogdied_****. Look it up, it means ****_izenskind_****. **

**Guess who white-eyes is!**

**Guess who blue-guy is!**

**You'll NEVER guess who!**

**A faster released next chapter promised to those who can guess!  
Also, I shall open a POLL on my profile about Loreann if you can get it right!**

**IT'S REALLY REALLY REALLY hard to put you off!**

**Lucy xxx**

**P.S. I love all you guys because, in my mind, you all resemble pretzels. I like pretzels now.**


	5. Stranger Danger!

**A/N: YES, Chloe, you are RICHTIG! I mean … ****_CORRECT_****_AMUNDO_****! But it was, like, SUPER hard of course. Because there are over a thousand characters in Minecraft hosting glowing-white eyes, and a couple more billion with blue shirts, jeans who aren't zombies. **

**Just ask if you want another multiple-POV chapter again, otherwise I'm gonna continue with Tamsin's POV.**

**And thank-you for the reviews! It's my life-force right now, with homework mayhem, and more homework. And homework.**

I'd thought I'd seen it all when it came to eyes.  
Ever since I've been born, eyes were all my mother ever talked about. Slavering over green-eyes, moaning over brown-eyes, and groaning at my eyes (a sort of hazel, I suppose). I lived my life doubting my beauty because of that, up until when I was twelve, and I gathered up a knot of courage big enough to ask her the question: _am I_ _ugly_? My mum cried, apparently. She's oddly sentimental for such a … well, actually, she's a weird enough person anyway, so that's probably why. But she led me over to the mirror in her bedroom. It's quite a big one. Classy. Intricate motifs at the edges, and all carved from bronze. I'll probably never see it again. But she took me over to that, and she sat us down on the edge of the bed so that we could see our reflections side-by-side.  
"_Look at that, Tamsin_," she said, holding her face next to mine, "_Look how similar we are. See? You've got my face-shape. And your hair is black, but it's silky like mine. You know what someone once told me? He said I was the '_beautiful, daring and unshakeable Ann Riven_'. So if I'm beautiful, you must be doubly so - because your eyes are greener than mine, aren't they?"  
I asked her if dad had said that to her, but she just sighed and a distant mist clouded her eyes.  
"No. It was someone who was beautiful on the outside, but … but not in the _heart_. I wish it was your dad, Tamsin, I truly do. But this was someone with blue eyes, not green."  
_Blue eyes, green eyes, brown eyes; they're all the same, aren't they?

And now _white _is in the mix.

How will I cope?!

"Unh … Agh, damn _fuck _it! FUCK OFF, BASTARD, THIS IS _MY _LAND!"

I stiffen at the familiar sound of brazen oaths (my mum got me used to them at a young age). It's blue guy. The hatred in his eyes burns fierce as before, but his attention is not on me. It's on the other man. Growling at the back of his throat, he clenches his bow and whips out another arrow. His frantic pupils flex like ants, tiny and reckless. But the silhouette atop the clearing just snorts. I stare at him in dismay. White, glowing eyes. How could …?

Suddenly, I lose complete connection with my legs and my knees buckle. I let out a cry as I stumble backwards into a tree. Blood spatters the ground below me, tainting my vision red. My hand instinctively goes to my gash … and comes back slick with gore. Breath catching in my throat, I shakily search the landscape with my hand for anything to stem the flow. Nothing. Everything is made of blocks. I could … _die_.  
Make that _I _will _die_.

I swipe at the air. I don't know why. I want to get out of this hell, it's so confusing, and horrible, and I'm _lost_. Why couldn't I keep my nose _out _of it?! Why couldn't I just _let it go_?! Then something nudges against my bunched fist, my right fist. At first I can't make it out, with my eyesight smeared with scarlet. But then I realise: it's a feather. Of course … from the chicken before. I don't know how I've got it, I don't know how it just _popped _into my hand like that, but I don't care. Bile rising in my throat, I splay it across my cut and manage to leave it there. Tearing up the blades of grass nearby gives me courage, and strength, and I don't know why. I spread the swards across the feather, and maybe that will stanch it.

"Fuck off or I kill _this _thing."

I look up. The blue man has an arrow pressed to my neck. Beads of dark liquid gather along the rod and form a small puddle on the earth below. Grey shrouds swirl inside my head, and my eyes. When did he move over to me? How? He could kill me. He could kill me … unless …  
Desperate, I move my gaze from the arrow to the other man. The man with the gleaming ice-white eyes. He hesitates. We still can't see his body, only his piercing stare. And then he moves out of the shade and the world starts spinning and I'm falling and I'm falling and there are shouts but I can't shout back and I'm falling and falling and no-one is there to catch me.

_Dad._

_Why did you let go?_

"_Hey … can you stand_?"

A soft voice lulls me, out from dark depths of the nighttime inside my mind. I squint slightly in the sudden bright, but eventually I grow even with it. My eyelashes flutter and I can see exactly where I am.  
Looking right up into a pair of white eyes.  
I shudder, opening my mouth to say something. Nothing escapes. Rubicund flushes my cheeks and I try to get up. Nothing happens. I close my eyes hard, hands going to my face, willing myself to wake up because it's all a dream. Yes, it's all a bad dream, so why don't I wake up?

"Hey … you need to drink this, or you won't get any better. Please?"

Gingerly, I wince open one eye and dare a glance out again. My situation has not changed. I lie on a bed, with a crimson sprawl over me, and the white-eyed man from before crouched in front. Suddenly, something clicks in my head and I see him and blue-guy cross, dissolving into each other. They … they _look_ _the_ _same_!

"Y-You're … you're …!" I gasp, my voice crackling and gravelly, "You're like that guy from bef-"

Just as I'm about to (_complete my sentence for once, goddammit!_), he seizes a bottle out of nowhere and stuffs it down my throat. I gag as the contents crawl from the unsealed lid and ooze onto my tongue. The flavour is so vile, I forget everything else I'm supposed to be preoccupied with and focus instead on not _vomiting_. I raise my hands to the bottle, struggling to pull it off, but white-eyes does that for me anyway.

Since it's run dry already.

"Ah … ahh … what the hell … what the _hell …_?!"

"It's a potion," he says gruffly, replacing the bottle on the shelf above the bed, "Of healing. You kind of _need _it."

"It was gross. Who the hell are you?"

He pauses, casting his view elsewhere. I blink. That's a normal question, right? Rather than running straight out of the stranger's room you just woke up into? I make to prop myself up, but my elbows fail me and I fall back into a pillow. It's a small room, made entirely of stone, and the only light sources are torchers hung from the walls. I think that we're underground from the rough-cut look of everything. My eyes trail around. Chests paint the place with the only supply of wood. Finally, the man coughs slightly and refocuses his gaze. I look over to him.

"Herobrine. My name's Herobrine. But … please don't call me that. Ever."

****Ugyah, enigmatic chapter, right?**

**The ****_ugyah _****was a bit unnecessary. **

**If you like Minecraft, you should look up Slamacow and Dan TDM on YouTube. Slamacow makes funny (and really awesome) Minecraft animations, and Dan TDM is just amazing.**

**Sorry for the long update.**

**This computer was locked for about five days while my dad went on some kind of work-course thing so I couldn't get on it.**

**Éh héh héh!**

**Lucy xx**


	6. Don't Say Her Name

**A/N: Well, Ellie (Percabetheweston) has requested LoreAnn POV, so … I guess I'll have to fulfil it. Ahhh … but I don't know how to begin! How about we start it the ****_traditional _****way, then?**

Once upon a time there was a princess. All stories worth reading have to include royalty, and therefore that should go for movies as well: or so thought Walt Disney. But moving back onto the heiress - her name was Twin … Twinsin …

_\- Twinsin?! That sounds like …_

Shut up. I'm telling you a story. Listen or I'll blindfold myself.

_\- What?! No! I'll listen!_

Yeah, that's right. _I _do the talking from now on. Anyway, Princess Tamsin … I mean, Twinsin, was … no, I can't do this. I need to stop … I just … I just can't bear _thinking _about -

-_ I know. But we've got to keep hoping. Everyone's trying to keep our minds off it as well …_

I know.

\- _You could sing me a song instead. I've never heard you sing before_.

I don't know any songs.

_\- Just make it up as you go along!_

Shit _no_!

-_ Why not?!_

It'd be corny. And cheesy. It would suck. I'd want to make it rhyme as well … and … and …

_\- And what?_

It … It would be about _you_.

\- …

\- _You're so cute._

…

I know that, too.

**** Okay, guys, I am SO SO SO sorry it's so short this week, but isn't life like that too?**

**Reason? MORE HOMEWORK! Plus, tests are coming up soon. I'm thinking of drawing a Loreann comic on top of that. So far, I've just posted a few chapters of a story on this website, but soon some Sims stories (with actual screenshots) will pop up along with some artwork.**

**CIYA!  
The link is here, but the website's barren so far …**

.com

**Sorry I couldn't get it hyperlinked, fanficcy wouldn't allow it :'(**


	7. Trust

It's been a few hours now. I'm petrified.

I can't pretend I'm _not_, because let's face it: I am in a strangers house in a bed being fed God knows what. In a BED. He's going to … I don't know, and I don't WANT to know, but I've broken into a cold sweat. I would _try _and bloody escape but I can't get fucking UP. I'm freaking out. I'm freaking out because I'm in a different world, away from the family I may have killed, and ... in a guy's bed. A guy with white eyes.

Trembling, I curl up in my torn clothes. He may have saved me. I haven't asked yet, and I don't remember. I passed out after blue-guy pressed an arrow into my throat. How could I have handled that? Immediately attacked by ANOTHER HUMAN in this world where, hallelujah, I _can actually breathe_. I sit up again, uneasy. The shaking gathers in my hands. I'm really, really terrified. I would cry if I weren't paralysed with fear. But I can see Herobrine watching me from the end of the bed, and it might be that. If he were to see me vulnerable … I daren't risk it!

I'm trying so _so _hard not to glance at Herobrine, even briefly. I don't know why but I feel an urge to just STARE at him. He looks familiar - he looks like blue-guy from before, just with white eyes instead. I was about to blurt that out but he stuffed some kind of liquid down me, so I shut up. That could have been poison. He should have proved it, first - _he _should have drank some to prove that it wasn't lethal.

"P-Prove it!" I cry out suddenly. He actually jolts with surprise, and then the alarm melts to confusion.

"What?" he says, "Prove what?"

My breath catches in my throat. I look down hastily. Would he slap me, or something, for demanding like that in a situation where _I _frankly am the one who should be obeying orders? He would do worse, wouldn't he?

"Nothing … I just … nothing, nothing," I say breathily. He eyes my shakiness carefully.

"You cold?" he asks, clearing his throat at the same time, "Sorry. It's a bit … in an underground cave here, so there's no warmth. Guess there's the torches. I could always light a furnace? Yeah, I'll do that."

Blinking, I stare after him as he hops off the mattress and walks over to an odd looking block in the corner of the _cave/room_. Of course - I thought it was just another square of stone, but on closer inspection you can glimpse coal through a slit near the bottom. Is he being nice? I'm too scared to analyse his personality, and work out if he's a do-gooder or a kid-napper. And yes, I know that '_kidnapper'_ is all one word, but I put the hyphon in there to flow with the hyphon-pause in _'do-gooder'_. Agh, badly-placed fourth-wall breaks!

"I'm sorry about all this. I shouldn't have brought you back here without asking … but I have potions in these chests, and you might've died without them. I was just feeding you them regularly until you woke up. I'm not a psycho-killer or anything … " he says suddenly.

That seriously makes me want to cry or something, but I can't un-tense myself, I just can't _trust _a man I never met (I am _NOT_ an Anna - I mean, _seriously_ Disney?! The only time that ever happens is on the Sims, _nobody _marries within the day in real life!). I … just want some answers, now that I know he won't torture me if I talk back.

"How long?"

Herobrine shoves a few lumps of coal through the slit in the furnace, and flames instantly dip the room in an atmospheric low-light. He smiles at me, then bends back up.

"How long what?"

"How long has it been … since I passed out?" I mumble, rubbing the binding around my head, "I … I've lost track of time."

Chewing his lower lip, Herobrine shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"A few days. I think. I don't really have_ any_ sense of time."

I try to force a brief smile, but it doesn't work. Two or three days. Two or three days in which he could have done anything he wanted to me, but didn't. I shudder: he could have been lying. Maybe it's only been an hour or so … yet even though I've 'lost track of time', I feel like I've been sleeping for a year. I ache. Horribly. My heart aches most of all - every beat that drums against my chest echoes in my body, reverberating through the empty space where my family used to be. I mean … I have to find them! I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I had killed them.

_Killing my own mum in an attempt to bring her joy._

_Tragic._

_Tragically ironic._

****HHEEYY so so so SORRY for the massive wait! I've been suuuper busy, revision etcetera. Ellie … did ****_you _****revise?!**

**Is Herobrine really so good? Is Tamsin really safe? **

**My friend Molly (an AMAZINGLY good author, so much better than I will ever be but she refuses to say that she is good) flicked through the prequel to this - she now refers to Jace as ****_raping guy_**** and she keeps asking me if it's Loren or Jace who's the bad guy. BUUUUT after hearing the constant mention of Jace in such a short span of time made me think … what if he came back?! What if he accompanied Steve?! I think it would be a tad far-fetched, however. Also it would mess up the plot. Although ****_This Isn't What it Looks Like _****had no apparent plot at the beginning! It was just going to be a bunch of drabbles, but it got so much support, I was so amazed!**

**OOOOOOKAY that's a (chicken curry) wrap!**

**Lu xx**


	8. A Message To You Readers

OKAY …

So I'm really sorry about this, but the wait for another update may be long. And getting longer. Exam week's coming up, so there's revision, and the fact that I don't know where I'm going with this story isn't the best either.

SOOO …

I have a fictionpress account, with stories similar to this one on there, and a wattpad account now, but with only a one-chapter story on there at the mo.

THINKING …

Of posting another story onto WattPad, so that may take some ttttiiiimmmme.

SO YEAH!

Again, super sorry, and have a nice day!

Lu xx


	9. Apple

I rummage deep about in my inventory for that green glint. Finally, after decades of searching, I have found something that can _almost _match Loren's eyes - Emeralds. My fingers wrap around the cool, smooth jewel and I hesitate. Loren spent so long getting enough shit together, to barter for this one gem, that I suddenly don't want to let go. But the impatient _hmph _from the buyer brings me back to my senses. Of course. By giving dealing with this emerald for the reward, I'll be able to get another thing back, too.

My little girl.

The villager gives another _hmm _of thanks when I slip the jewel into his trading box. Then the other half of the deal appears immediately in my hands: a map. We shake hands, he goes one way, and I go the other. I'm slowly growing used to this world. The whole '_oh yeah, everything's made out of blocks_' thing still gets me, but I can deal with it now. Not like before. I think, without Loren by my side, I might have died in those first few days.

It was all too much. Everything made out of blocks, everything crazy looking, all these weird noises, every step resounding in my ears. With the PTSD making flashbacks ransack my mind and every movement I made bringing one on, I was close to suicide. On top of _everything_, Tamsin was gone. Without Loren helping me carry on, without his eyes as the beacon leading me out of the flashbacks, without his unshakeable demeanour and his irrevocable patience, I would have _slit my wrists _at the get-set, regardless of everything. And what's more, I wouldn't have felt the pain.  
But now I'm learning. The flashbacks are getting fewer, and the spaces between longer. I can understand all this 'inventory' shit, and it's okay, it's allowed, because we're in a different dimension after all. Loren told me it's like an invisible rucksack, and you just clap your hands to open it. After that it was plain sailing. He's like a born teacher, knowing just the way to teach me, knowing just how I learn best. And he made everything so much _clearer. _He is my eyes. He is my _soul_. He …

As I turn the corner round a wooden shack, I bump straight into a shepherd. His green eyes (though not as nice a shade as Loren's) fix mine and he _hmm_s. I don't really know if he's apologising, growling, or laughing. Loren would know. In return, I bow my head and apologise. When I look off, he's already gone.

"_Rude _much?" I mutter, shoving my hands into my pockets and continuing my walk, although now it's turned into more of a _stalk_.

"_Very _rude, much," replies a voice from behind me. I don't even raise an eyebrow.

"I saw your shadow from a while back. Plus you walk _really loudly_. Not much of a _guess who_, Loren," I say tetchily. I know I sound really grumpy, but I can't help it. How _could_ I be in a happy mood?

He pulls out in front of me, beaming all over his face. His green eyes twinkle in the sunset. I almost sigh, but I catch myself before I do. I'm supposed to be angry, not soppy.

"Hey, guess what, grumpy?" he smiles, "Guess what_ I_ did today?"

"Learnt to tie your laces? Actually _read_ that book I recommended?"

"No! I got … no wait for it, I've got to do it properly," he says with a slightly fiendish tilt to his voice.

Dramatically, I'm plunged into darkness as Loren claps both hands over my eyes. I cry out, my arms flailing in a desperate attempt to slap his face, but then he tickles me and I'm instantly rendered to a mess of limp, giggling idiot.

"Loren, n-nooo, stop! _S-S-Stop it_! I'll k-k-kill you!" I laugh, clutching my sides as he begins to wiggle his fingers over my belly.

"I'll stop as soon as you start guessing _properly_ …" he says teasingly, hence moving on to under my chin.

I collapse onto the ground, chest heaving, unable to stop laughing, incapable of _talking_. It takes a few seconds after he removes his hands from my eyes and stops tickling, but gradually the flow of swear-words trickles back into my system and I settle to bad-mouth him in every language that I know. A few languages don't even exist. Dwarven has the most swear words, French has the second-most, Irish the third. After my alphabet of swearing has tapered to a finish, I sway to my feet and manage to meet his eyes.

"That's one terrifying vocabulary," he breathes. I blush proudly.

"Really?" I gush, "You think? I mean, I've been a cuss-collector from birth, but no-ones every really _complimented _it before. One of the roads less travelled, am I right? I'll give you another alphabet if you want. I'm quite proud, you know, that I could find a naughty word for _Z_."

"Oh? What, is it zucchini?" Loren says, either incredibly stupid or sarcastic.

"_Zealot_," I smile, "It means a fanatic. Or extremist, but unless you _were _an extremist, then that would be an insult. Anyway … what _did _you do today?"

Loren looks away briefly. When his gaze flits back to me, his eyes are shining with tears, but he is smiling, too. My mouth makes a small 'o' shape before I move my hand to his cheek.

"Hey, tough guy? What is it?" I whisper nervously, my fingers brushing away the waterworks. He holds my wrist gently to stop me wiping his eyes.

"It's okay. It's _better _than okay. It's just … I never thought that, in this _world_ … that we'd find one. I mean … it's so similar in so many ways, but this just … oh, Ann, let me show you."

His hand unhooks from mine as he rummages in his inventory. The object he pulls out isn't green. I thought it would be green: it's my favourite colour after all, and Loren knows that I love his eyes. I told him that after he proposed to me. It felt too awkward to mention it before. It was like a weird kind of sappy secret. No … this is red. And … it's not square-shaped. It glitters in the melting sun, like Loren's eyes. I can't for a moment understand what it is.

But then he holds it out in front of me in his cupped hands, gazing at me with all the earnest love in the world. I stare at it, and then at him.

"I swear I'm not going to cry," I say quietly.

"You're such a bad liar," he whispers back, and both of our eyes fill with tears at the same time.

The apple in his hands drops to the floor as I kiss him thrice, and then thrice again.

****Aww, a little apple to sympbolise their love! I can't believe how big a part apples have played in this series. Can you? An apple a day keeps the author at bay … no, literally. Such a long update pause! :'( x 1000**

**But I love you all anyway. It's been so hard finding a way to continue the story from when I last left off. You could say writer's block, but I would say:**

**W ickedly**

**R avenous**

**I cecreams**

**T hat**

**E at**

**R accoon's **

**S ocks**

**B ut**

**L eave**

**O ut**

**C hild**

**K illers**

**You REALLY don't want to know how long that took me to write …**

**Love, Lucy xx**

P.S. For other British people like me, but those who don't know what a zucchini is, it's the American word for a cucumber … right?


	10. In My Nature

_Human _by 'The Killers'

_Are we human  
Or are we dancer?  
My sign is vital  
My hands are cold  
And I'm on my knees,  
Looking for the answer  
Are we human  
Or are we dancer?_

I've made up my mind. I'm going to trust him.

I mean, there _are _good people in the world. He could just be one of them. Just because the first 'person' I met here tried to murder me, doesn't mean all of them are like that. Speaking of which … I haven't seen any other people apart from blue-guy and Herobrine. But then again, I have been stuck underground in Herobrine's _'home' _with a head injury. I haven't used Herobrine's name yet. He didn't want me to. But what _can _I call him? I want to ask him that, but it's obviously a sensitive topic. So I've just started a conversation by saying _'hey, what do you think about _…' and continuing from there. There isn't anything else to do. I rest most of the time. For the first few days, I tried desperately not to fall asleep - I hate the idea of someone being able to see me unconscious. But then I remembered that he'd seen me unconscious for two or three days before, and I gave up on my sleeping-protest.

Herobrine's said that it should be about a few more days before I can get up and about again. I've attempted to stand up a few times, and he's helped me off the floor when I immediately buckled. The amount of trust I've placed in him is huge. If he were to assault me at any time, I would be completely helpless. At the start, it was obvious to both of us that I was scared and suspicious of him. Even when he was offering me a meal, I lied about my growling stomach in case it was poisoned. Herobrine then took a small bite out of my food to prove it wasn't spiked, and I couldn't refuse any longer. His amount of patience is impossible. If _I _were housing an injured, unmovable person in my bed, I'd probably get so pissed off with them I'd throw them out - on _one_. For Herobrine though, it looks like he justs wants company. He lives alone. Nobody has come over. The only other living thing I've seen for the past week has been the occasional animal he brings home. When Herobrine holds an animal, he's so _gentle_, murmuring soft-spoken words to them, stroking them so carefully, his eyes shining with happiness. It's adorable. The animals all trust him, as well. I think back to blue-guy. He came across me, and immediately tried to kill me. If Herobrine had come across me, I think he would have treated me differently. Thinking back … blue-guy asked me what I _dropped_, if I was an _update_, a _mob_ or an _NPC_. What did those things _mean_? I mean, I obviously know what he meant by _dropped _and _update_, but this was in a completely different context. And mob? NPC? Do they stand for something? I mull over it for a few minutes, then decide to ask Herobrine about it. It should make sense to him; he lives in this crazy world, like Steve, so he would understand the lingo.

I roll over onto my side, looking for where Herobrine is in the room: it's morning, and I've barely woken up. My vision gradually blurs into focus as I scan around for his glowing eyes.  
At first, I'm just not certain whether I've woken up fully yet, because Herobrine is nowhere to be seen, and he's _always _around. I blink several times, squeezing my eyelids shut to the point of pain, but when I open them he still hasn't appeared. My heart skips a beat. This shouldn't trouble me. I _know _it shouldn't trouble me. I mean, he hasn't left me alone before, he's always been here, but he could have gone out for some fresh air. I try and get back to sleep. Adrenaline stirs in my veins, my pulse beginning to surge. I force myself to breathe in, breathe out, because there really is nothing I can do about it. I can't get up. Can't walk. I can barely move to the other side. Oddly enough, for the last week my bladder has been completely inactive - but then again, aside from potions, I haven't needed to drink anything. Apparently 'dehydration' and 'going to the loo' don't exist here … although I still need to eat. I don't understand. In some ways, it's good. Well … no, in _all _ways it's good. I realise that I've been doing a really good job of distracting myself from Herobrine's absence. And then as soon as I _think _about the distraction from Herobrine's absence, I start thinking about him and I break into a cold sweat.

"H-Herobrine?" I call out, daring to say his name, even though he asked me not to, "_Herobrine?"_

I wait for a dramatically silent three seconds before yelling his name as hard as I can manage. He doesn't respond. The only reply is echoing footsteps below. My heart starts racing - is that him coming? Or something else? I curl up underneath the red blankets, shivering in fear. I feel like a baby, but I can't straighten from my foetal coil. So it would be more fitting to say that I feel like a foetus. And by the way, _foetal_ and _foetus_ are pronounced _feet-al_ and _feet-us_. Just a sickening fourth-wall break for you there! ^_^

"Tamsin … c-coming …"

I gasp a sigh of relief. Thank God, it _is _him! As the footsteps grow louder, the door at the other side of the room creaks open. I crack a grateful smile.

Herobrine stumbles into the room, his blood spraying the walls, bruises mottling the skin visible through his mauled clothes.

"H-Hey …" he coughs, staggering forwards into the light, "Sorry I … t-took so … long …"

A shocked cry tears from my lips as I shoot up in the bed. Instantly, I drag my legs onto the floor, pulling myself onto my feet. The pain resounds throughout my body, but I honestly couldn't care less. Wincing, I begin stumbling to the chests at the other side of the room, not looking at Herobrine's bloodied figure. Tears begin welling up in my eyes and I don't know why. I need to do something, quickly, or he might … I don't know, _die. _I'm not thinking straight as I rummage desperately through the chests, searching for one of the potions he feeds me daily, or something to stem the blood flow.

"No! Tamsin, you need to r-rest … I can … I can … do that …" Herobrine says weakly from behind me, "It's … it's …"

But before he can finish his sentence, a sudden _crash _cuts him off. I whip around - Herobrine lays bleeding on the floor, his eyes fluttering, groaning softly. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing escapes.

"Ah! _No_! I've nearly … is this it?! _Herobrine_, is this it?"

I scramble onto the floor beside him, pushing a bottle brimming with purple liquid in front of his face. His white eyes flicker as he tries to focus on it. Blood pools on the ground below. I begin to tremble as his raspy breathing weakens.

"Just … sh-shake your head or something if it's not a healing potion, _p-please _…" I whisper, willing myself not to cry.

Slowly, he shifts his head from side to side. My breath snags in my throat as I start hyperventilating. I scrunch up my eyes, bunching my hands into fists, my knuckles taut over my pale skin to the point of pain. I can't lose control. Can't!

He reaches out tentatively, uncertainly, his ashen fingers shaking as he uncurls his hands. Gently, he touches my hand and smiles.

"I'll be … fine … just a … l-little bit longer," he whispers.

"What? No! A … A healing potion, that's what you need! Where _are_ they?" I say desperately. I'm about to get up again, but Herobrine fixes me with his ivory eyes and I can't leave.

"It … won't work. Tamsin, _p-please_ … it won't work on me …"

I wrench my head back and forth, bewildered, in despair.

"Why not?! They work on me!" I cry, gripping his hand in fear, "There must be _something_ … you're not just going to _die_!"

As soon as I've said the words, they're in the air and I can't get them back. Die. Die. The reminder of death takes hold of the atmosphere in a clammy embrace. Die. I've said my worst fear. He could die. That, for me, is my biggest fear right now. Death. For a human, that would of course make sense. Survival, living, that's what we do. And death is what we avoid. It makes _sense _for me to dread 'the end', but it's also illogical - death is a part of life. It will always happen, and we cannot escape it. We're called _mortal _for a reason.

"Just … wait for me … please, Tamsin, _wait _… I just … need …" he begins wearily, and then stops.

I stare at him. His eyes flicker closed. His chest rises only slightly. Even his face has drained of any colour it still resided. Tears well up once more. I don't bother retaining them. Choking, I clutch his hand so hard my knuckles could burst, and it hurts, it hurts so much, but I don't care.

"No," I gasp, my head spinning, "No no no, _no_, fuck _no_, wake up! Wake _up _you idiot, wake up!"

He doesn't even raise an eyelid. Lying so still, so quietly, I wonder if he's … if he's …

Crying, I drag him over onto the bed. I shouldn't have enough strength to do that, but I do it anyway, just to fuck up any laws of nature that still count for something. I shake his hand vigorously, not saying anything, sucking in trembling breath. I'm a wreck. I need to do something, suck up the blood. He's losing so much that crimson already soaks the bedsheets, spilling from the mattresses and onto the floor, onto my face. I manage to rip off the hem of my tunic, wrapping it around the wounds, tearing it up into smaller pieces. He's not going to die. _I _must have looked like this, from his eyes, when I first met him. And _I _didn't die. I don't care what he says: I'm going to find him a healing potion.

I don't know why I'm so upset, as I stumble about the room, dragging my hands recklessly through chests, rifling through various other blocks, this whole world is made of bloody blocks. Well. Except _him_. Maybe that's why. Maybe it's because, without him, I would be all alone. And I want a friend. I want my mum, my dad, but I scarcely have the strength to walk as it is. So I need someone right now. I'm only human. I can't help it. That's right. That _has _to be it. The only reason I could feel like my soul is ripping in two.

Because it's in my nature.

****Ugh, rubbishy ending. But I have a writers block now, so I couldn't find any other way to continue.**

**I love you all!**

**Lu xx**

**P.S. Percy Jackson fanfiction here I come!**

**P.P.S. Yes Ellie, the idea for it is forming in my head.**

**P.P.P.S. Thaaaaank-you nirurin! Yay, haven't had a new follower for a while ^_^! I mean, I love all ****_you _****guys as well. DON'T WORRY! **

**P.P.P.P.S. Is it possible to write a Miranda fanfiction?**


	11. Seduction (More or Less)

**U &amp; I **

**By someone (I forgot who and can't be bothered to look it up)**

_Think I can fly_

_Think I can fly when I'm with you_

_My arms are wide _

_Catching fire as the wind blows_

_I know that I'm rich enough for pride_

_I see a billion dollars in your eyes_

_Even if we're strangers 'til we die_

_I wanna run away_

_I wanna run away_

_Anywhere out this place_

_I wanna run away_

_Just you and I _

_You and I_

**A/N: Just so you know, most of these songs _are_ relevant to the chapter :)**

* * *

"Mmnrrghh," I groan, arms extended like a sleep-walker, tongue lolling out the side of my mouth, "Brains …"

Herobrine applauds like I've won a marathon, and I do a little curtsy in gratitude, beaming all over my face. He's getting better.

I think.

"Like that, yeah! Only … they don't know any words. And I'm not sure if they even have tongues," he says excitedly, obviously amazed that I know what a zombie is.

"Oh, it's no fun without the tongue. Or the brains. C'mon, they don't exist anyway," I say to him. He raises an eyebrow. Actually, no, he raises both eyebrows, I think, but his forehead is trussed up with binding. You can still see a hint of blood through the thick bandaging.

"I nearly got killed by a zombie. Well. A horde of zombies," Herobrine replies smoothly, gesturing at his messed-up body.

I pale. Of course. I'd been so worried about the state he was in before, I never even considered why he was like that. Which I should have thought about. But even now, I'm trying desperately to keep his mind off the obvious pain he's going through by doing zombie impressions. I haven't had time to focus on things like that. It's only been a few hours, but these are crucial moments. Herobrine won't accept any potions of healing I try and force into him: even as he is now, he's too strong for me. Although to be fair, I'm recuperating as well.

"Wh … how?" I say hoarsely

He narrows his eyes, looking away from me. Several seconds go by and he doesn't answer.

"H-Hey … c'mon …" I try, forcing out a nervous smile, "You can tell me. I won't … laugh?"

When he finally does meet my eyes, it's with a harrowing glare. I struggle not to look elsewhere.

"Yeah, well, I'd think you were a monster if you did laugh," he says shortly. I wait nervously for him to continue, but he's waiting as well, for me to give him the prompt myself. I almost roll my eyes.

"And …?" I urge him, "What happened?"

He releases a deep sigh, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Dunno. I mean, they just showed up out of the blue. Didn't think they'd dare even come down here after … well, it doesn't matter. Point being, I had to lead them deep down into some mineshaft so they didn't swarm here."

"Hang on …" I start, my brow furrowing, "I would have noticed something."

"You were asleep," he says quickly, and then looks away again.

I gaze his way. He's hiding something. I know it.

"Herobrine …" I say slowly.

"Don't use that name!" he snaps, but I continue.

"Herobrine," I say again, and he flinches when I say it, so I speak in a gentler voice, "I know I would have heard something. I'm a _really_ light sleeper. And if you're talking about a swarm …"

"You slept for about three days solid not too long ago," he points out. I frown at him.

"Yeah, but I had literally just been on the verge of death. Oh, come on, just say it, Herob- I mean, um … oh my God, please!"

Now might be a good time to admit my lifetime goal. My ambition. My desire. My aspiration. My stupendously high-flying, ridiculous, overestimating, but not unimpossible, dream.

I want to be an actress.

* * *

_"Who called you beautiful first, mum, if it wasn't Dad?"_

_Mum smiled at me, but it wasn't out of happiness. It was a smile speaking loud and clear, saying everything in the world, but at the same time just one word; REGRET. Her lips twitched into a happier smile after that, but I would forget that first look. _

_It was the look of a soul who'd lived too long._

_"It was a man who will never forget me, Tammy," she said, "And not in a good way."_

_I frowned. That had basically gone against everything she had told me about beauty and self-confidence and etcetera._

_"What do you -" I began, but she interrupted me._

_"Tamsin, you are a beautiful girl. You know that, right?" she said earnestly. Her seriousness made a blush settle over my cheeks._

_"M-u-m!" I mumbled, even my ears going red._

_She pressed on: "But not just on the outside, but on the inside too. You're perfect in every way."_

_Then she sighed._

_"Some people are beautiful on the outside, like you, but unlike you, not on the inside. This man … he was like that. And because of that, he managed to get inside me. I was so blind … Tammy, I want you to promise me something._

_If you ever, ever, ever in your life meet a man like that, you must promise me this: you cannot let him control you."_

_I laughed, trying to ease the tension. I squeezed her comfortingly on the shoulder._

_"Of course not, mum! As if- anyway, boys are s-t-u-p-i-d!" I grinned, "Ain't nothing gonna get this chick down!"_

_She laughed as well, which was a massive relief, but still she went on._

_"Boys are the stupidest things in the world," she agreed, "And you can use that, see? If you come across a man like this, and he tries to get inside you – you must manipulate him. You must pretend to be a … a damsel in distress."_

_Mum spat the last words out like they were venomous. She gave me a hard look._

_"But that is how a girl like you can learn all their secrets. Seduction, my girl, that's the key here …"_

* * *

"Please."

Herobrine glances up from the inside of his hand. I peek up at him as well, managing to make my cheeks go slightly pink.

"Please," I plead with him softly, peering out from under fluttering lashes, "You can tell me."

He falters, looking guilty.

'Perfect!' I'm thinking all the while, the little red devil in my head doing a funny dance on his trident, 'This is going to work so well on a softy like him!'

I know he isn't trying to get inside me, but mum had said that 'seduction' is a way to make them spill the beans. Well. I'm not really seducing him, it's more like I'm charmingly persuading him. Whatever, I'm going to butter him up anyhow. He won't even know what's hit him.

"I-I'm really scared, okay?" I say quietly, getting the blush evenly spread somehow (I had to teach myself this skill, and it is so hard to get right), "I just suddenly appeared in this world one day, and everything was so big and weird … and then a man in blue came along and … and …"

I hesitate, throwing my head the other way, pretending to be hurt by the memory. Herobrine looks really uncomfortable now, shifting on his bed. _(Good, nearly mine!)_

_"Suddenly he_ was trying to kill me, and … he nearly did …"

I 'dare' a look up at him again. This time, I make my gaze fiercer and more steady. He can't pull away. _(Nice, easy does it … don't go too far North …)_

"If I owe my life to you … if you … if you saved me …"

Herobrine reddens, but still can't look away. I don't blush this time though, I've gone off the 'shyness' branch now.

"… Then why should I have any reason not to trust you? Or … have I given you any reason not to trust … me?"

I do falter on the last question though, because that gives a better effect.

_(Okay, don't say anymore now, you've done well, just let him come to you.)_

…

He's taking his time!

_(Let him, don't rush him. Steady as she goes.)_

Good things come to those who wait, right?

"I drugged it, Tamsin," Herobrine says finally, "I drugged your drink."

…

Wrong.

* * *

**EXTRA SPECIAL EXTRA!**

_Ann_

"I've seen this cactus before."

Loren lets out a breath of air. He runs a hand through his hair, furrowing his brow at the map.

"I never took Geography at school," he says unhelpfully.

"I never went to school," I say equally unhelpfully.

It takes several 360°s around the cacti before Loren admits that we have indeed passed it before. He dumps his face in his hands. I dump my ass on the ground. We're both silent. Unhelpfully silent.

It's not like we really know where we headed either, which is probably the most unhelpful thing of all. Well. We know where we want to be headed, but where she is could have changed by now. Unless …

But no. I ain't gonna let myself believe that for one moment unless I see it with my own two eyes. Loren ain't either. We're gonna find her. I mean, our destination. We're gonna find our destination.

Right now, all we have to go on is a faulty map, the word of one of the local villagers and a VERY unhelpful cactus. But we also have determination. We are not going to give up. Ever. Not 'til she is back in my arms, and I can stroke her hair and look her in the eyes and say she is beautiful. Because she is.

Why did I ever let her doubt it?

I try not to think about it. About her. About what has been, and what should be. But the second I think be instead of been, the tears well up and I curl into a ball right there on the ground, not wanting Loren to see me in another moment of weakness. He's patient. Too patient. How can he stick me? I'm so weak and broken now, with Eagles and torture and rape and daughters and flashbacks all jammed up there in my head, sending me to my knees. I'm tired. I need Loren, but he doesn't need me. I don't want him to need me. I'm so selfish … he should leave me. I could never deserve him. I'm a bad girl. A bad lover. A bad girlfriend. A bad fiancée. A bad wife. A bad mother. A bad girl. I'm a bad girl. I'm a bad everything, and he's just so _good_ … he should leave me. I'm dragging him down.

I'll be the death of him.

"Ann?" Loren says quietly, sounding like he's stooped just above me.

"Ann?" he says again when I don't respond, "Can you keep going?"

I force myself onto my feet, staggering slightly. I know he's seen my wet eyes and pinkish nose, but I don't say anything about it. He smiles, and puts an arm around my shoulder.

"You're strong," he tells me kindly. I smile back.

_No I'm not._

* * *

****GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!**

**IT HAS LITERALLY BEEN MONTHS SINCE MY LAST UPDATE!**

**I CAN'T I CAN'T I CAN'T I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!**

**KICK ME OFF THE SITE FOR BEING SO BAD!**

**\- but please don't I would be very sad :( **

**I wouldn't be surprised if none of my awesome followers come back … not even Chloe … not even nirurin … not even Percabeth …**

**Lu xx**

**P.S. I'm truly sorry for the horrific wait. But now I've finally managed to get this story onto my own computer, since it wasn't actually on mine before, so I should get to do great updates now **

**P.P.S. I'm actually very ill at the moment_ *cue hacking cough*_**

**P.P.P.S. Pineapples!**


	12. Hero

**Turning Tables**

**By Adele**

_Close enough to start a war_  
_All that I have, is on the floor_  
_God only knows what we're fighting for_  
_All that I say, you always say more_  
_I can't keep up with your turning tables_  
_Under your thumb I can't breathe_

_So I won't let you_  
_Close enough to hurt me_  
_No I won't ask you_  
_You've the just deserving I can give you_  
_All the things you gave me, it's time to say goodbye_  
_To turning tables_

I'm backing away from him before I can even think about doing so.

"I'm sorry, Tamsin, just let me explain!" Herobrine cries desperately, reaching forward as if to take my hand, but thinking better of it.

"Y-You better do some explaining _right now_, motherfucker …" I say, trembling with fear that gives my fury the edge.

I take another step backward, breathing hard, staring right into his eyes. Don't look away. Don't break eye-contact. He'll take advantage of you.  
He's a trickster.

"I just needed you to sleep for a little while longer, Tamsin, and I _mean _it!" he says, "I really mean it!"

"How should _I _know if you mean it or not? Why the fuck did you want me asleep in the first place … oh … oh my God, you didn't -"

He suddenly grabs my hand, and I'm cut off midsentence. A yelp escapes my lips and I tug backwards, trying to struggle out of his grip. But he just holds me there, pressing my hand to the point of pain. Then he looks at me. At least, I think he does. He doesn't have any pupils. It's actually a little weird how I'm not freaked out at all by his blank eyes. Then again, I am in a world made out of blocks. Nothing could surprise me now.

Gradually, I feel myself calming down. I'm even getting to the point of _reasoning _with myself. Herobrine says nothing, just holds me there, waiting for me to receive his explanation. After a while, I let out a breath of air and nod. He returns the nod.

"Some of the potions are painful. Y'know how doctors put people to sleep before doing surgery? Sort of like that. I didn't tell you … well, because I knew you'd freak out."

I glare at him.

"If you think that was me freaking out _before_, you've got another thing coming," I laugh bitterly. But I don't say anything more.

Herobrine sits back on the bed, wincing as his injuries scrape the mattress. I look away, my face flooding with guilt; he's done nothing but help me, and I've returned that with doubt and mistrust. I try and think of something else … but then I immediately wish I hadn't.

My thoughts turn back to home.

They're out there, somewhere. If I'm alive, then they are too. There's nothing I'm more sure about right now. Besides, mum and dad were together, weren't they? Unless dad let go of mum as well … but he would never do that. He would never let go of mum. Maybe … maybe he let go of me …

… as a message?

Because I could deal with this. Maybe he knew that. Maybe he let go of me because someone had to look after mum. And it had to be him.  
Oh God, I've messed up so _badly_. All I wanted to do was help mum … but now I'm killing her. _Killing her_. If the flashbacks were bad before, there's no way of describing the pain she'll be going through now.

But dad's there for her.

Of course he is.

He always is.

Always there for mum.

But … who's here for me?

Tears threaten to spill over my eyes. I hold them back. I'm not going to cry. That won't solve anything. I'm on my own now, and there's nothing going to change that. I'll just have to find them. That's right. I'll just have to find them. I'll just have to find them. That's all. That's fine. That's _good_. My eyes begin to water. I throw my head away. I won't let Herobrine see. No more manipulating. He's too good for that.

I need something to distract me. Distract me from all the hurt and confusion and I don't wanna feel it no more, make it stop, make me _forget_.

"What's … surgery?" I say suddenly.

I don't know why it popped into my head. It just did. Herobrine mentioned the word 'surgery' before and it must have just stuck in my mind; it's not a word that I'm familiar with. Not from where I come from.

Came from.

"Huh? Surgery?" Herobrine ruffles his scruffy hair: "Geez, you really aren't from around here, are you?"

I shake my head, though it's not a question.

"It's like … when there's something wrong with you, you go to a doctor, don't you?"

I think about it for a moment, then shake my head again.

"When there's something wrong with you, you go to a _healer_," I correct him. He shrugs.

"Healers must be along the same lines as doctors. They heal you, I guess. Well, yeah, when you got to a … healer, there might be something inside of your body that needs sorting out. So they put you to sleep and operate on you, I guess. That's surgery. Well. There's dental surgery too, but that's to do with your teeth. I dunno. I'm not a doctor."

"Healer," I repeat.

He flaps his hand around his head in frustration. I move on.

"So … there was something wrong inside my body?" I say nervously. "There _is _something wrong inside my body?" I add.

"No, no, I was just using surgery as an example. You're fine. No, you're better than fine. You're …"

But he can't seem to find the words. He's just looking at me. Then he realises what he's doing and spins around, bright red. He mumbles something about potions and gets up from the bed. Almost. His foot catches slightly on his limp. I grimace in empathy.

"Here, Herobrine, let me help," I say kindly.

Herobrine suddenly snaps back round, his white eyes piercing through me.

"Don't use that name," he snaps. I flinch back, unnerved.

"Sorry," I mutter, reddening slightly; that was my fault, I knew how sensitive he was about his name.

Why is it that every time I try to help … I always make things worse? I cough loudly to hide a little sniff. I'm not going to cry. Crying solves nothing. Just dehydrates you.

As he stumbles across the room, I have to hide my face, else I really will cry. Damn it. I need to get out of here. But how? True, he hasn't stopped me from leaving in any way, but then again, I haven't tried. Plus I'm only just recovering. And now he's got _himself_ injured. By … zombies, wasn't it? I groan. I hate this world, it makes no sense at all.

"What should I call you then?" I call after him. He stops.

No no no _why_?! Why did I have to say that?! I just felt a small sprig of confidence and leapt on it. Stupid stupid _stupid_! And now I have to go with it as well …

"I-If you don't want to be called Herobrine, I can always call you something else … right?" I continue. He's not moving.

Is he waiting for me to … suggest a name?  
Because I've already thought of one. It's been on my mind for a day or two now. It fits perfectly. Very well indeed.

"How about … Hero?"

He turns around.

Oh God he's gonna kill me.

Stupid stupid stupid stupid _stupid_!

I'm about to shield my face with my hands when I realise.

Realise that he's not angry. Not angry, or sad, or anything else.

He's happy.

So happy, he's grinning from ear to ear.

**BONJOURNO!**

**I just looove Minecraft, even more than I do Ascension. I got myself a Minecraft YouTube (:DDD) channel in case you wanna check it out. It's called Mooshroom Industries. But I dunno. It's only if you're fans as well.**

**BONJOURNO!**

**Wait no, I just said that.**

**Lu xx**


	13. Stupid!

Somewhere Only We Know

By Lily Allen

_I walked across an empty land  
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand  
Is this the place we used to love?  
Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?  
Oh simple thing, where have you gone?  
I'm getting tired and I need something to rely on_

_I came across a fallen tree  
I felt the branches of it looking at me  
Is this the place we used to love?  
Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?  
Oh simple thing, where have you gone?  
I'm getting tired and I need someone to rely on_

_So tell me when you're gonna let me in  
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin  
And if you have a minute why don't we go  
Talk about it somewhere only we know  
This could be the end of everything  
So why don't we go  
Somewhere only we know_

Apparently they explode if you get too close.

I look it over several times. _Explode_? The thing barely has _legs _for one thing, just four little cubes for feet that are somehow managing to get it moving at a considerable speed. It has no arms either. And it's green. And yet … and yet ….

And yet it's absolutely _adorable_!

"That thing's not gonna _explode_!" I laugh to Hero, who's crouched down beside a rock next to me.

"Go test it out if you don't believe me," he says drily.

This is the final stage of my healing, apparently. Blue-shirt guy's sword cut a pretty big gash in my forehead. At least, that's what Hero's been telling me. But there's this … well, there's just something _nagging _me at the back of my head, telling me that it's not the truth. That, yet again, Hero's not telling me something. Then again, that could just be my uncertainty. I've been a bit on edge again. I guess I haven't made up my mind about Hero yet. Is he really a good guy? He's not a _bad_ guy, I'm quite sure of that. I'm just not sure how I'd describe him. If you came along and asked me what kind of a person Hero is, that would really stump me. Guess he's just mysterious then. Sums it up pretty well.

I sigh and slide down the rock next to him. Don't really know much about him, other than his name, which is now Hero. He perks up every time I say it. I think he really does like it, but I can't think what was wrong with _Herobrine_. A little unusual, sure, but this is a world made out of blocks. It sounds like the norm.

"How _old _are you?" I ask suddenly.

I'm not very good at asking questions. I'm curious and all that, and I get all fidgety if there's something I don't know about someone, but I get all embarrassed actually asking people personal details. Don't ask me why. I wish life was simpler.

"How old are _you_?" he replies, smirking.

_Excuse _me?! It was hard enough to ask the question in the first place, then you just have to go throw it back at me and make me feel like a stalker?!

"Si-Sixteen," I say, flushing. He looks a little taken aback.

"Well, coming on seventeen," I feel forced to add. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," he says quickly, "I just thought you were older than that. I'm twenty-one."

So he's an adult. Suddenly, I feel a whole lot more nervous. Of course he's an adult! I knew that … didn't I? He's not a _whole _lot older than me, but still … he must just think of me as a kid then. I look away. Why is this affecting me so much? Some part of me must've known he's an adult! Get a grip, Tamsin.

"Thought you were an adult," Hero says, then smiles to himself, "Guess I was wrong."

I smile back, but it vanishes when I turn away. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why is this bothering me so much?! _Seriously_?! It's his age! Just his age! He's an older guy, that's all! And then I think of the words _'an older guy'_ on their own and the blush already forming in my cheeks goes haywire. I'm bright red. Damn it damn it _damn it_! Why am I even thinking about that?! It's not like I could ever consider a relationship with … well, how could I even _consider _considering a relationship right now?! **STUPID!**

"Uh … something up, Tamsin?"

I hear my name on his lips and suddenly it sounds completely different. No, shut up! Don't think that! Quit it already, you've never thought of him like that before!

_Have you …?_

No, you haven't, and that's _final_! And you never will! So **SHUT UP ****_SHUT UP _****_SHUT_********_UP_****_!_**

"I-I just feel a bit dizzy," I lie, feigning a stumble as I get to my feet.

No, I'm not _lying _when I say I'm dizzy, I'm so dizzy I could just keel over, but it's not 'cause I'm ill, it's 'cause … it's 'cause I (**SHUT UP SHUT UP!**)

"Oh no!" Hero says worriedly, "I _knew _this was a bad idea … I'm sorry, Tamsin, I'll take you straight back."

"No!" I say, a little louder than I intended.

He stops to stare at me for a few seconds. Under his white eyes I feel exposed, naked, and then I think of those two words and I have to look away 'cause I'm blushing so fiercely. He snorts.

"What _is _wrong with you today?" he says, but now he's sounding more impatient, "You're so … I don't know, all over the place."

I shake my head. I shake it so much I stumble again and have to sit down. Hero rubs his weary face with his hands.

"If you're really not well, I'll have to take you back. We can do this some other time," he sighs.

I'm going to shake my head once more, but think better of it. The blush is cooling off now, so I think it's safe to look up.

"What do you _mean_, some other time? How long do you expect me to stay here?" I say tiredly.

Hero looks a little shocked, but then he falls back into a shrug.

"I dunno. Until you were recovered, I suppose."

"Well, here I am. Recovered."

And essentially, I _am _recovered. Other than a bit of bruising on my collarbone, I'm fine. Hero, on the other hand, is _not_. While the black eye has died down, and the scratches and scrapes spanning his body have also faded, his forehead still requires binding wound across it, and his limp is as noticeable as ever. And this is because of … what _zombies_? Despite everything else that is grievously wrong with this world, the whole zombie thing gets me every time. Zombies? _Zombies_? Really?

"Where will you go, then? If you leave?"

Hero's watching me closely. I'm not flushing though. I feel tired. Too tired, like there are weights pitted down in my stomach. I groan.

"I don't know," I admit, "I have to find my family, that's all I know. They'll need me."

"Do you … know where they are?" he asks quietly.

I give him a look. It's so deadpan, it could turn a frying pan into a saucepan. Now that's _hardcore_.

"Okay, okay," Hero says, going back on himself, "So you don't know where they are. How on _earth _are you going to …"

"… Find them?" I finish for him.

He doesn't speak. I'm not sure what to say next. I remain silent.

How _am _I going to find them? Do I have anything to go on? Anything at all? _No. _Just the fact they're alive, because it _is _a fact. They couldn't be dead. Not if I'm still alive. And they're _together_, that's the important thing. If Hero hadn't found me … well … thank God he did.

"I'll help you."

There's a rustle next to me as Hero heaves himself off of the ground. I glance back up at him, not quite believing it. He extends a hand. A grin crumples over his face.

"Why wouldn't I?" he says.

**Tamsin …? Is there something you're not telling us?**

** Is something happening between Tamsin and Hero?! Tune in (some time in the foreseeable future) or follow the story to fiiiiiiiiind out!**

**Lu xx**


	14. From the Get Set

**A/N: Couldn't find the right song/poem for this chapter so I'm putting this Author's Note here instead. Enjoy:)**

"Take two," he says.

"Take two," I confirm.

Then there's a rush of adrenaline inside me, and I'm running running running, not knowing where the speed is coming from but not stopping stopping stopping. A laugh tears from my lips. I'm not quite sure why I'm laughing at first, but it must be the caress of the cool wind across my face, the breeze that I've missed underground. I laugh again, and behind me I can hear Hero laugh as well.

"Keep going, Tamsin, you're doing great!" he calls, and it fills me with energy just to hear my name on his lips –

Oh God. Forget I said that.

I refocus my eyes on the horizon-line. This is the last stage of my healing, remember? Well. Take two. Remember those cute green things with no legs from before?

I'm meant to be taking them out.

At first I just snorted, but Hero insisted that it was difficult to time the attack – they 'explode'. Apparently. After that, I told him it was cruel. He laughed and claimed that these were the most evil beings in the world. _This _world.

"Hit it really quick!" he's telling me now, "Twice on the head should do it."

I grit my teeth. I'm worthless. But they're something called 'mobs', Hero has told me. That means they never actually _die_, they just 'respawn' someplace else. I asked him what _respawn _meant. He told me it was something to do with casseroles, but I'm not so sure …

The sword feels heavy in my hands. Hero warned me that if I break it, he might break _me _– clean in half with an axe. I haven't thought of a good enough come-back yet, so I didn't reply. He explained that it was a 'diamond' sword. Well, diamond _enchanted _sword. I don't really care. Just give me something to whack it with.

"And … _now_!" Hero yells.

The creeper turns around at exactly the wrong moment. With an epic battle-cry, I unsheathe the sword mid-jump, smashing it right down on the creature's temple. Dazed, it stumbles back a few feet, and then its deathly black eyes focus on _me_. But before it can even _hope_ to recover, I'm launching myself into the second assault. I swing back the blade as far as possible … and then send it flying clean through the creeper's body.  
It hisses once, lets out a withering gasp and disappears in a cloud of smoke.

"_Ni-i-ice_!" whistles Hero as he jogs over to me.

I flush, with exhaustion but pride as well. Even I know that it was pretty cool. I bow my head until the breath returns to my body. He's grinning when I look up again.

"Thought you'd never held a sword before?" he says.

I shrug my shoulders modestly.

"Guess I just knew what to do," I reply, then can't help but add, "Maybe there's _warrior _blood in my veins …"

Hero shoves me. It's light, playful, yet there's a blush working into my cheeks once more (stupid, stupid, _stupid_!). He notices, but doesn't say anything. Somehow, that's worse.

"So … what now?" I say, trying to change the subject.

Hero gazes off into the distance, like he's trying to work something out. After a while, though, he just shakes his head.

"No idea. You seriously got no idea where they are?"

I sigh. I've been ransacking my memory for hours on end, searching endlessly for any kind of _clue_, anything at all that might lead us to them. Nothing.

"Well, at least I can kill a creeper now, right?" I make a feeble stab at a joke.

Hero barely smiles, and to be honest, I can't blame him. I have no plan, no experience, no _anything _to get me on course. I can't rely on Hero all the time – but he doesn't have any plan either, so that's not so important. Oh _why _did dad let go? _Why_?

"What about your parents _personally_?" Hero says eventually, "Any likes or interests they both share? Any fears?"

I drum the side of my head with my fingers, thinking.

"Something that's important to them is … the colour green. And fruit. Fruit is special to them."

Hero gives me a look, mouthing the word _fruit _and raising his eyebrows. I glower back.

"It's true!" I snap, "There's something about fruit that … apples, that was it. Apples are … I don't know, _significant _to them. And green because that's the colour of my dad's eyes."

"Well, it's a start, I guess. Ain't gonna be no fruit out in a plateau, or a desert. If it's _apples _they want, that'd be either plains or woodland," he says, but I can hear the resign in his voice.

"And my mum gets flashbacks in small spaces," I add.

Hero's eyes light up, and I feel a little relieved. I don't know why I just thought of that, but I did. It's quite a useful memory.

"Flashbacks?" he says, "Like, PTSD? Is there anything else she gets flashbacks about?"

_Everything_, I want to say, but can't bring myself to say it. Because it's basically the truth. Nearly anything could trigger her off in the house; the town clock chiming, birds landing next to the window, Nelson meowing to be let in. But what about things that set her off the _most_? Things mum, and dad, deliberately _avoided_?

"Things like iron bars, chains … they set her off. If she sees a locked door, that freaks her out sometimes. It makes her feel trapped. Anything that makes her feel trapped, she'll either have a breakdown, or annihilate it."

"_Annihilate_?" Hero interrupts. I just nod.

"She'll basically kick it until it breaks, or dies, whatever it is," I say calmly, whilst Hero looks on in disbelief, "She did that with all the doors in the house when I was about two. I remember coming downstairs and seeing all the broken doors, and then just putting it out of my mind and going off to do something else."

At first, he looks a little doubtful. Then he gives a polite cough, and I blush, recognising that as my cue to move on.

"Well, yeah, so that's one thing … she likes to be out in open spaces as much as possible … and she _hates _long walks … nothing about water really sets her off … rope can have an effect on her … but it's basically just mundane things …"

Hero nods several times as he takes it all in.

"'Kay," he says.

I get to my feet, brushing the dirt off my leggings. I expect him to begin walking back towards the cave, but instead he stays put.

"Let's go find your parents."

**Finally!**

**Okaaay the updates are comin' thick and fast now, guys, I'm on a roll!**

**Lucy xx**


	15. Feel It In Me

**LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN ****LOREANN LOREANN **

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:  
_Feel It In Me_

* * *

**Hero**

I'm not sure how I'm not crazy yet.

I mean, I've been on my own for as long as I can remember. Years and years of loneliness should have addled my brain. They probably have, but in a different way. I suppose I haven't been entirely cut off. The whole _meaning _of my life is to kill this one man. Steve. He's not a man. He's a _monster_.

Every day, he ambles out into the forest for a bit of light-hearted exercise. Slaughtering the animals around him. When he's murdered every last living soul around him, he gathers up their remains and bungs them in a chest. And that's that. Not a second word about it.

All those deaths. All those meaningless, pointless,_ heartless _deaths.

So I'll kill him. This world is _mine_, this is the land that I have to _defend_. I'm the guardian. And yet my name is still taboo.

When _she _came along, well, for a second I wasn't sure what to do. For a second. But anyone, any_thing_, at the tip of Steve's sword should be saved. So I did. I did save her. But I didn't let her see how.

And now I'm helping her find her parents. I'm not sure why. I guess it was me who offered to. Sending her off on her own would be lamb to the slaughter, though. Lamb to the _Steve_. I had to do it. I had to.

I still wonder how I look to her. Not physically, of course, although it wouldn't be a pleasant surprise. I mean … how I act. How I talk. Do I sound weird? Do I act crazy? I should, with all those years spent on my own. But she hasn't said anything about it. I'm not even sure why I'm worried about it, to be honest. She's a kid. That's all. I mean, I could've sworn she was eighteen, but it's fine. It's fine! It doesn't matter! Why would it matter?

"Are we just gonna keep walking in this direction?"

Tamsin's frowning at me, her arms crossed together. I nod my head in reply. She sighs heavily.

"Great," she mutters, "I _love _walking."

You can tell she hates it, but there's nothing to be done. What could I do? _Carry _her?! I hadn't walked anywhere in a while before Tamsin showed up. After all, why walk when you can teleport? But something told me she wouldn't take to that. Being so new to all of this, it was probably best not to overcrowd her mind. Even now, though, I'm still worried about showing the side of me that's less … _human_. Not in front of her.

"We could ride on horseback, if there're any horses about," I say.

Her eyes instantly light up.

"Really?" she exclaims. Then something must click, because her mood suddenly sours. "Why didn't you say that earlier?!"

I can't help but smile. Of course she'd say that.

"L-a-z-y," I spell out for her.

She glares even harder, but her cheeks turn pink too. I snort. Although she has been acting kind of _strange _like that lately. Maybe she's ill?

"Uh … are you feeling okay, Tamsin?" I ask.

Well, I have to ask, don't I? She'd have no idea what the symptoms would be for an illness from around here. She's not _from _around here. Instead of replying, though, she just turns away. I get the feeling she's bright red. I don't say anything. She can't have caught anything _that _bad.

* * *

**Tamsin**

"Is that a horse over there?"

I can't help but say it. It probably _isn't _a horse. After all, I thought that the chickens from here were ducks. But it has a tail. Four legs. Hooves. A mane. A muzzle. It _looks _like a horse, rearing on its hind legs and everything. But that's what I thought about the duck. Chicken, I mean.

"Nope," Hero says, "Nice try."

"_What_?" I cry in dismay, "That is _obviously _a horse. How could that not be a horse? _How_?!"

"It's a donkey," he says, and the confusion clears.

Looking over at it once more, I can admit that it probably is a donkey. But it still resembles a horse. It's made out of blocks, anyway. Not _my _fault I got it wrong.

"Don't worry though. Donkeys usually hang out around horses," Hero adds, and gets me excited all over again.

I hate walking. Ugh. I don't even want to _think _about it. Why can't Hero give me a piggyback or something? He looks fine! Relaxed, even! It's a worth a try …

"_Hero~o~o_ …" I start, batting my lashes endearingly.

"No."

That's that. I tried. It was a long shot anyway. I'm still blushing though. Probably the heat. Although it's actually pretty cold. I rub my bare arms. Stupid dress.

"I'd give you my jacket if I had one," Hero tells me, watching me rub my cold skin.

I shake my head in disbelief.

"Good one," I say drily, "I'll believe _that _when I see it."

We get back to walking. Then I feel something soft nestled around my shoulders, and I almost jump back in surprise. Looking up, I see Hero draping what must be a rug around me. I stare at him.

"Believing it yet?" he smiles, but tenderly.

I expect a flush to start creeping into my cheeks, yet this time I'm in the clear. Hero starts to grow pink, though, which I don't expect. It makes me feel … well, almost _happy_. I wonder why I'm so pleased, but it's probably because he feels shy doing that. Because … because he wouldn't feel shy if he only thought of me as a _kid_, right?

_Shut up, shut up, shut up_.

* * *

**Ann**

For once, I don't swear.

Maybe I don't have the energy left in me. My right toe squeals in pain, stubbed on the wooden planks that make up our 'house'. I groan softly. Loren looks up.

"Something wrong?" he asks.

I shake my head. His face has become lined now, the stressful past weeks having taken their toll. Even his eyes aren't such a brilliant green. They're … _duller_. The glimmer has all but left them. I look away, unable to bear it any longer.

This is where we're sleeping tonight. Then we'll travel further North. Loren built it with his own two hands, in what, ten minutes? I can't help but admire him more and more with every passing day. He's getting faster at building … no, what was it? _Crafting_. He gets faster at crafting every hour. We were told that this world is centralised around 'crafting'. You die quickly if you don't craft.

True, it's not exactly a work of art. The framework of the house (well, more of a hut really) is made of wooden planks in varying colours, taken from different trees that Loren felled. I managed to contribute something: I made the tools that he used to fell the trees, and mine out the stone for me to make the furnaces. I made the front door as well. And the beds.

We only knew how to 'craft' all this because of a village. When we … after we … oh Gods, after we l-lost Tamsin, we were taken in by the villagers. Without them … we might even be dead now. We aren't. Thanks to them. The chieftain of the village made us stay for those first few days here. He listened to our story with ears that had heard it all. He told us all he knew about … about Tamsin's … w-whereabouts. He delivered the news … _kindly_.

"_My children," _I can remember him saying, his face crumpled into a sad smile, _"This village has been here for many, many years. We have connections with villages for hundreds of miles. If anyone has seen your daughter, we would be the first to know. I am sorry, my children. I cannot say where she is now."_

Loren wouldn't take the news. He told the Elder that we had all come here together, and that if he and I had fallen together, that Tamsin could not be far.

The Elder asked how we came here.

Loren told him that we used Paradise.

The Elder asked if we locked hands.

Loren told him yes.

The Elder asked if he let go.

Loren fell silent.

"_Stay here for as long as you can," the Elder spoke again after a while, "… Forever, if you so wish."_

We stayed for three days. Every second of every minute of every hour that we stayed, we were asking, asking, always _asking _where she was. Had anyone seen her. If she was still … _ali_-

No. Not that.

There was something else, though, that the Elder told us. An old story, passed on by the Elders from the very beginning of the world. A warning, embroidered in a riddle.

"_If the Fated have it so_

_There are two places you can go_

_The true man, but with the mask of fear_

_Or monster, hidden by appear."_

The Elder told us that there are only two other men in this world – but they are the deadliest of enemies.

"_If Tamsin is found by them_," he had said, as his face fell into grim solemnity, _"She will be used. They will use her against each other … like a means of war. If either one of them finds her … it means the end. For all of us."_

* * *

**Loren**

"We should get some rest."

She doesn't respond for several minutes. Her eyes are distant, those of a stranger. It's at times like these that I'm scared. I'm scared that if I call out to her, she won't remember who I am.

But at last she comes around. I smile gently at her. She's on the edge. I can tell. One wrong move and she'll collapse into another flashback. I know what she's been thinking about, after all. It's all that's been on _either _of our minds, after all – _where is she? Did they find her?_

"Loren …" Ann whispers, he voice hoarse with emotion and grief, "Tell me … what is she doing, right now?"

I reach out, and fold a strand of her behind her ear. She stiffens at the touch. I put my hand back.

We lie on the bed. I wonder it myself, sometimes. What is she doing? Is she happy? Is she sad? Does she miss us? No – of course she misses us. I don't even need to _think _about that. I relive my memories of her. Smiling. Well, mostly. I'd like to say that about both my daughter _and _my wife, but that would be lying. Tamsin gets grumpy just like Ann. Actually, Ann gets grumpy _worse _that Tamsin, but I'm not allowed to say that else she'll kick my ass.

I smile. It's true.

There's a rustle next to me. My eyes wander over to Ann lying next to me, her body curled up, like she has to protect herself. I slip my hand around her delicate shoulders. She will never have to protect herself again. _I'm _here now.

"She's happy," Ann says.

I blink.

"She's happy," she says again, stronger now, "I can _feel_ it."

Suddenly, Ann's face breaks out in a smile. It's the first time I've seen her smile in what seems like forever. I stare, mesmerised. I don't want to say anything, _do _anything, in case she stops. I just want to keep her smiling. For all eternity.

"Loren! I … I can actually feel it!"

I don't know what she means, but I'm so happy I can't describe it. I clasp her hand in mine underneath the red blanket. She's crying now. Happy crying. She hasn't cried for as long as she hasn't smiled. Somehow, that's worse. Her suffering is so deep down that she won't show it. Not even to me.

"Tell me, Ann. Tell me what you mean."

Her excited breathing gradually softens as I cuddle her against me. She wipes away the tears.

"I – I could see her," Ann says slowly, like she's trying to work it out for herself, "I saw her in the back of my mind. I was … I was thinking about her so _hard_ and … suddenly she was there! I … I …"

"Ann …" I begin, and instantly I hate myself for saying it to her while she's so happy, but I have to. "Ann, you couldn't have been … _imagining _it, do you? Even thinking about a memory of her?"

Her breathing slows almost to a stop. She shakes her head though, to my surprise.

"No. It was her. She was in this world too, she had a sword on her back and everything – just like the sword you have."

I nod, taking everything in. I believe her … but a part of me worries that that's just me _wanting _to believe her. Still … this might be something to do with the Paradise magic we used … has it created some kind of emotional _connection _between her and Tamsin? It makes sense, in a way. _I _broke the connection. No wonder I haven't felt it. She and Tamsin's connection was broken by force. Perhaps … perhaps a part of it's still there? Embedded in her? And who says that Tamsin hasn't felt it yet, either?

"We're going to find her," I tell Ann, stroking her hair as she rests her head on my chest, "I _promise _you."

I feel her smile. Then she closes her eyes, loosening against me. I wrap my arms around her, shielding her from the night.

**SO!**

**Sorry it's taken me so long to update – I really should have a back-up for this story somewhere. I lost the charger for the laptop it's on, and it literally won't work without being constantly on charge. Like, I won't work without being constantly on YouTube. Sorta like that.**

**Hope you enjoyed it! I ship Loreann so much now I have frickin' DREAMS about them :O!**

… **Actually that's just weird**

_**Lucy :)**_


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